Chapter Nineteen

Another Night in the Gay Mecca, Part Two

Ryoga was anxious and excited at the same time. Hanging out with Ryan really comforted him and he briefly forgot about the Kerry-nonsense. He was now more worried about what he was wearing. And he wanted to look really good for Ryan. To show Ryan that he was feeling better, of course.


Unfortunately, Squat & Gobble didn’t provide more than enough of a budget for Diesel, or whatever classy things that metrosexual men wear. But Ryoga knew that his good looks and swimmer’s bod allowed him to drop some brand points. So, he pulled out a tight fitting black shirt and some tight blue jeans that wrapped nicely around his strong hips and legs.


Finally, the doorbell rang. Ryoga quickly tossed on some cologne and took a deep breath. He opened his door and his jaw mentally dropped. He was now standing inches away from Ryan, their pectorals almost touching each other. Ryoga’s heart raced faster. Ryan looked great in a white tank top, faded blue jeans


…and a black cowboy hat.


“Howdy,” Ryan said in an almost horrible Southern twang. “We’re goin’ somewhere else tonight.”



The Sundance Saloon was a sea of Stetsons and studs. Ryoga could count as many as 50 cowboys gathered at the Sundance Saloon on Barnveld Avenue, far from the mecca, which was actually what Ryan wanted. Men of all shapes and sizes, not just the lean and muscular, swung their partners on the dusty, wooden floor to the tunes of Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson, and Alan Jackson.


Ryan ordered two beers and handed one to Ryoga. It tasted like carbonated bread. These Americans are funny people, indeed, Ryoga thought.


“Howdy.” A kind-hearted blonde guy approached Ryan with blazing blue eyes and a Southern twang.


“Well, howdy,” Ryan replied. This time, he didn’t impersonate.


The cowboy pulled up a stool and sat next to Ryan and Ryoga. “When yer done with that beer,” the cowboy said, “I reckon you should join the guys for a bartop.”


“Cool,” Ryan replied, knowing the lingo. “What’s the song?” Ryoga looked confused.


“Kenny Chesney. When the Sun Goes Down.”


“Yee-haw!” Ryan threw on his black cowboy hat again. “I’m a little bit rusty on the moves. But I’m sure you’ll help me, right?” The cute blonde nodded. “Will you pardon me, Ryoga?”


The cowboy smiled broadly. Ryoga felt like sneering. Ryoga noticed the blonde guy taking Ryan’s hand as he guided him on stage.


Ryoga quickly found out what a bartop dance meant. It was like that movie Ranma used to rave about because of all the hot American girls. Coyote something. But this time, the dancers were all men. Very good looking men. And Ryan found his place right in the center of the white tanktops and tight blue Levi 501s as Kenny Chesney’s tropic twang started to play.


Ryan swung with a lanky brown haired guy with a red bandana in his tight pants, but Ryoga couldn’t help but stare at Ryan. Ryan’s perfect body moving perfectly on stage in rhythm. He pulled out that megawatted smile that made Ryoga’s gaze move directly to the floor.


“You want another beer?” a familiar voice chortled in the background. It was Barry. He was wearing a straw hat and a black shirt which did nothing to hide his belly and blue pants. Stephen was right by his side in a fit-forming black tank-top.


“I’m just enjoying the company,” Ryoga said nervously.


“You like him, don’t you,” Barry said. He motioned to Ryan.


Ryoga froze. “Is it obvious?” he whispered quietly.


“Everyone likes Ryan Hitomi,” Barry sighed. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”


Ryoga looked back at Barry.


“He’s a mess and emotionally detached,” Barry growled. “Don’t fall for him too quickly or you’ll get hurt. He’s got a lot of growin’ up to do.”


“I’ll manage,” Ryoga sighed. “I kinda got over Kerry.”


Barry rolled his eyes. “Humph,” Barry said. “Looks like you do too.” Ryoga took another swig of beer.



On the other side of town, somebody else was tasting vodka.


“You bastard!” Martin shouted at Kerry and then promptly tossed his martini into Kerry’s face to the shock of everyone surrounding him, including Tyler.


“I left 12 messages,” Martin said, rolling with the punches. 12 MESSAGES! I thought we had a good time and we were meant for each other.” Tyler raised his eyebrows and nervously ran his finger around the rim of his glass.


“Who is this crazy person?” Ranma asked nervously.


“I don’t remember,” Kerry replied back.


“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Ranma snarled.


“That’s right,” Martin said. “You said that you fucked far too many men to remember their names, you STD-ridden manslut! And I’m guessing this is the new trick who is gonna be the next notch on your bedpost.”


“Um, don’t mess with a scorned lover?” Tyler tried to help out. It didn’t work.


“So, I was going to be a one night stand?” Ranma snapped at Kerry.


“I have never said that!” Kerry shouted at Martin. He turned to Ranma and puffed his chest proudly. “If you got lucky,” Kerry smiled back. This time his spell didn’t work and Ranma tossed his mojito at Kerry.


“I think I can choose my own one night stands,” Ranma replied, folding his arms.


Kerry Kwok was drenched from the neck up in vodka and mojitos. He even started smelling like a bad bartender concoction.


“Look, you guys can just stay here being crazy and fuming and all that shit,” Kerry replied. “I’m going to get cleaned up. I know when I’m not wanted.”


He stumbled off like a wounded wolf.




Well, we know what most of the guys are doing. Where’s Devin? You’ll have to see part three to find out.

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